This is the second part to a two-part short story about a married woman who is taught the meaning of love by an exotic Indian woman. There will not be any more parts or chapters: sometimes a story just has to end where it ends.
*****
I continued to observe the area for the next few days. I knew one thing: open garage doors were an open invitation to come inside and have sex. It was happening all around. I had checked out other neighbourhoods, and it did happen elsewhere, but nothing with the volume of this area. On any one given street there was at least one or two open garages.
They all had visitors. There was gay sex, straight sex, orgies, threesomes, and who knew what else going on. It was all very exciting.
By Friday, I realised I was getting soaking wet watching the secret trysts happening right before me. I started bringing my bullet with me. I inserted it and used the remote to vibrate it. I came a few times watching these strangers committing sins right in front of me.
At night I worked on the story. I had taken a few pictures with my phone. I blacked out faces and house numbers. I had three fantastic articles ready for print. It was my best work.
Then I watched the owner of
The Examiner
walk into a house to meet another man. The large black man greeted him like an old friend. They were kissing before the front door closed. I put down my voice recorder and cursed.
My story was over. There was no way the paper owner would print this. I would be fired. Tossed out. Done.
"FUCK!" I screamed in my car. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
I pounded my steering wheel and then pressed my forehead against it. I was defeated. The best story of my life gone.
I leaned back and stared out the window, trying to think of what to do.
A car drove past and pulled into a driveway not twenty feet from where I was parked. I watched as an Indian woman emerged from the car. She was gorgeous and my heart thumped in my chest. She was exotic as only Eastern women can be. She had long dark hair that shone in the sunlight. When she turned sideways I could see her massive chest. Her breasts had to be size DD. She had an impossibly thin waist that descended to a large round ass. She was perfect.
I had managed to not think about woman for years. I committed myself to my marriage and my monogamous, heterosexual lifestyle. Seeing this woman before me brought back all my desires. She was exotic and beautiful and sexual in a way I had never seen before. I wanted her. I needed to taste her. Feel her softness and hot wetness.
I gasped at the sudden sexual desire that rose hot and furious within me.
She turned and looked at me in that moment. She had dark eyeliner around her eyes. I could see her eyes were dark, and almost black. She wore a bright red lipstick in stark contrast to her complexion. She looked right into my soul and I saw her eyes widen.
We stared at each other for a long moment. Then she smiled at me and went inside. I sat there panting and fumbled for my remote. I flipped on my bullet and groaned at the pulsing inside my pussy. I turned up the level and was soon gasping at the waves of pleasure fanning out from my pussy.
Then the woman's garage door opened a foot and stopped there. I stared at the door in surprise. I caught a motion in an upstairs window and saw the woman looking down at me. My orgasm hit me and I cried out. The woman grinned at me. She recognised it. Her teeth were bright white against the red of her lips. Dimples formed on her cheeks and her eyes danced with mischief.
I gasped through my orgasm and fumbled with the remote and switched it off. The sudden loss of vibration had me groaning. I pushed the starter button of my car and my Prius came to life. I turned the wheel and sped off. I headed straight home and went upstairs.
I played with my myself with my toys for an hour. The image of the exotic woman forefront in my imagination. I hadn't come like this since college. At the time I had three pairs of hands pleasuring me and three mouths. I curled up in the foetal position and lay on my bed panting. The bedroom smelled of my pussy. It lay thick like a cloud.
God, I miss pussy
, I thought before I drifted off to sleep, thinking of the woman smothering me with her tits.
* * *
Sunday arrived. Since Friday, I had done little else than think on how I could release my story and meet the exotic Indian woman. I could always release the story elsewhere, under a pseudonym. I thought of changing the town name, too. I dismissed all these options. They would work, but I wanted my name on the story. I wanted my maiden name on the story.
That took me aback. I always wrote under my married name. I took Paul's name, it was expected of me and Paul had wanted it. I was now Jennifer Jennings. I hated the alliteration. Peter thought it was cute. Of course, everyone called me Jenny Jennings. I preferred Jen, but no one called me that, except my dad. He always understood me.
Paul drove to church and pulled into our usual spot. In small towns people had their spots, and you respected that. Because we were a young couple, we parked the farthest from the church in the parking lot. At least it was under a huge oak tree and shaded the car from the oppressive Southern heat. Paul drove a Ford 150, with all the bells and whistles. He paid for it in cash with an advance from his magazine. He was proud of it. It was bright red, had a full gun rack on the back, and stickers proclaiming him a republican through and through.
He hid is poetry from the world. And the town. I was forbidden to talk about it. He wrote the most touching and beautiful poetry. He truly had a gift. I knew he thought it was too womanly. He wrote his garbage for the magazine. All about country life in Texas, where men chugged beer and shot armadillos for fun. Where women are eye candy and vapid and hang off their men like trophies. He was a lesser man for believing all that bullshit. We fought about that, too.
He blamed me for not getting pregnant. He didn't know I was still on the pill. We had been trying for a child for the past three years. I once suggested he get himself checked out. He lost it. Screamed at me and drove off. He was away for three days. He came back and threw a piece of paper at me. He had himself tested. I had only meant it as a joke, but he had gone through with it, despite his reservations. His sperm count was perfect.
So, from then on, it had to be me that was broken, according to Paul. I had myself examined. I came back with flying colours. I swore the doctor to secrecy. He knew I was on the pill. And he knew I didn't want children. He understood. He was one of the few democrats in the town. He respected my body and my rights as a woman. He's a nice old man pushing seventy and an oddity in town.
We walked into the church and met the pastor at the door. We grabbed the service flyer from him and sat at our usual pew, next to my parents. The church was stifling hot and my mother was, like the other women, fanning themselves. I never felt the heat. Not really. I wore loose clothing and never overexerted myself. My mother was dressed in her Sunday finest and couldn't breathe through the thick material. She suffered it and said it was God's will.
We spoke cordially and exchanged little bits of news and gossip. My husband and dad sat together as always and chatted about football and baseball. The church started to fill quickly. I looked over and saw Anne walking down the centre aisle. She spied me right away and I swear she took a step backward. Her eyes went wide and she stared at me.
